


The Hugging and Loving Bed-Fellow

by Foophile



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 09:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5962246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foophile/pseuds/Foophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bed shudders and Michael looks over to see Lincoln silently chuckling. Michael tries to remember the last time he saw that and fails. </p><p>Originally written December 2008 for Round Nine of Rounds of Kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hugging and Loving Bed-Fellow

Lincoln turns over and settles on his side. Michael’s side. Or rather where Michael slept until his wide shouldered big brother rolled over on top of him, effectively making Michael’s side Lincoln's as well.

The first time they’ve slept in an actual bed since they were incarcerated and the brothers have to share. Michael thinks it’s very fitting. Just as fitting as Kellerman sleeping in the bathroom, where they both thought he could do the least harm and not desert them in the middle of the night.

Their destination is the St. Thomas Hospital in Akron, Ohio and tonight they’ve stopped the cross country trek directly in the middle. The mess in Colorado, Steadman’s cowardly death, and all of the pain that comes with knowing that their chances for salvation are slim to none are behind them, or so Michael hopes.

Lincoln’s a heavy, comforting weight, breathing deep and steady. Michael’s exhausted but can’t get to sleep. His body feels tight, tense because of the assassin sleeping in the bathtub and the image burned into his retinas of Steadman’s brains splattering on the walls. He didn’t expect that. No one expected that, especially not Lincoln who, from the way he’s been evading the issue, might feel guilty that it happened at all.

He was the one with gun. Lincoln was the one who lost his temper. Who’s to say Steadman would have helped them at all if he’d lived? Who’s to say that Steadman wouldn’t have hung himself from the shower curtain rod when none of them were watching later that night? The sad fact is that Steadman died the moment Lincoln walked up to his car one winter night and failed to pull the trigger.

“If you think any louder, Michael, you’re going to wake the neighbors.”

Michael looks over his shoulder to see Lincoln awake and staring. His big brother ghosts his hand over his scalp, a familiar barely-there touch that’s been a constant long before Michael can remember.

Michael scoots over to face him. “There’s a lot to think about.”

“Sara, for instance?”

Michael frowns. No, he hadn’t been thinking about Sara, even though he hoped to meet her by tomorrow night. “And other things.”

“Other things that we can’t control, so why bother thinking about them at all,” Lincoln says in a tone that makes it clear that it’s not a question.

“We need plans, contingencies.”

“We need sleep or none of those plans will work with us tripping over our own feet. Can you even remember the last time you slept through the night?”

Michael wishes he could come up with an answer right away but his second long pause to think is answer enough.

“Go to sleep,” Lincoln orders, pulling the covers up over their shoulders. “You need me to sing you a lullaby?”

Michael smirks despite himself. “No, you’ll wake Kellerman, and most of the dogs in the area.”

The bed shudders and Michael looks over to see Lincoln silently chuckling. Michael tries to remember the last time he saw that and fails.

“You’re no choir boy either,” Lincoln says after a second. He settles, moving closer to Michael, on the verge of snuggling. Michael never would have imagined that Lincoln was a snuggler if he hadn’t seen it, felt it, before. If he wasn’t wishing for it right now. He wouldn’t dare tease his brother and let cold air fill the space in between.

There’s a loud snore from the bathroom and both men look at the closed door.

“Do you really think he’ll help us?”

Michael shrugs as much as he can under the sheets. “He led us to Steadman.”

“The cowardly bastard,” Lincoln grouses. “If I’d wounded him or broken his hand, we could have been free men by now.”

“He would have killed himself anyway,” Michael says even though he’s uncertain about that. He looks up at Lincoln, so close to his face that their lips are nearly touching. He thinks about it, thinks about just one kiss that will be over before he has the chance to worry about Sara or what they decided to end years ago. He doesn’t move. “We are free men, Linc.”

His brother gazes back, eyes tired and drooping, and says, “Freedom is relative.”

“Guilt is too,” Michael whispers, searching for his big brother’s hand under the coverlet. He finds it and holds tight like he used to when he was little and afraid of the dark. This he can do.

Lincoln squeezes back, making it easy for Michael to dip down an inch and angle his head onto the thick muscle of Lincoln’s shoulder. His brother’s other hand comes up then and lightly cups his face, keeping him there.

Michael can’t remember the last time Lincoln touched him so tenderly, so much. He gasps when soft lips brush his forehead. He hopes for more but Lincoln's pressed against him, hand in his and heartbeat thumping at his ear, and that's enough.

“Go to sleep, geek boy.”

Michael closes his eyes, a smile on his lips. “You first, thug.”

END


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